


An Exercise in Catharsis

by MadameRed



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff, M/M, Medication, Panic Attacks, klance, person a texts their dead friend and discovers that the number has been recycled, proceeds to fall in love with person b, sidepair shunk, so OBVIOUSLY there's going to be some shit involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9770132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameRed/pseuds/MadameRed
Summary: Keith sometimes texts his dead best friend. It's what his therapist told him to do. When his dead best friend answers, though, things get complicated. Now he's developing feelings for the random snarky stranger with his friend's old number, which is problematic, because he's also very much in love with Lance. He wants his cake and he wants to eat it too, but he's never really that lucky.the ever classic "person a texts their dead significant other and gets a response because the number was recycled and whoops they fall in love with the new person" trope.





	

 

Keith breathed in the hot air that was trapped with him beneath the blanket he’d sequestered himself under. He’d known this day was approaching since it had happened last year. The eleventh of February. Eight forty-two in the morning. Only a few minutes more, now. He rolled over onto his stomach and mashed his hands beneath his pillow, burying his face into it and sighing. He frowned into the pillow. This was ridiculous. He’d been dealing with this every day for a _year_ , so why did the anniversary of it bother him so much more? Making a noise like an agitated cat, he stuck his arm out and groped around for his phone.

Eight forty.

His gasped, his throat tightening painfully. His eyebrows furrowed and he could feel the sting of tears threatening in the corner of his eyes. He navigated to his messages, searched a name. _His_ name.

 _I miss you_ , he typed. _I wish you could text me back. I need to hear more than just your voicemail. I don’t know how much longer I can take this shit, man._

He wiped at the tears that slipped sideways across his nose and into his hairline, tickling at his ear. He curled into a tighter ball, dragging his phone into the blanket burrito and unplugging the cord for full range of motion without strangling himself to death. What a way to be found, tear stained and snotty, choked by an iPhone cable under six blankets. His friends would probably be so embarrassed that they’d have to wear disguises to come to his funeral. He hiccupped a laugh at the thought of Shiro in glasses and a mustache, his smile more than a little watery. He pulled snot up his nose and grinned a little wider.

 _Taka isn’t feeling guilty anymore. He knows it wasn’t his fault. I’m not there yet, yanno. He lectures me every day,_ he typed. His smile faded and a fresh tear slipped over the bridge of his nose. _But I haven’t gotten there yet. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I never got the chance to tell you how I feel. Felt? I don’t know what the fuck to feel anymore. I wish I could talk to you again. Please come back._

 _To me_ , he thought. Come back _to me_. He didn’t add that. Didn’t need to, maybe. _Wouldn’t have done any good anyway_ , he thought bitterly as he sent a text message to a dead man.

He buried his face into his pillow and willed consciousness away.

And was awoken almost immediately by a text message. Except that it wasn’t immediately; it was an hour and a half later. Dried tears caked his eyes shut, and he rubbed at them, picking the little bits of crust off of his eyelashes painfully. He fished about the blankets for his phone and swiped open the screen without paying much attention. He brought up his messages, and nearly went into cardiac arrest at twenty-one.

**Carver Sinclair 10:20 AM**

_Wow. I’m_ really _sorry. I guess your friend’s number was recycled. I just got this phone a month ago. I’ll delete this number and your message if you want, but.. are you okay?_

Keith stared at the screen, his eyes impossibly wide and his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His grip on his phone tightened until he was sure he was going to crack the thing in his fist. His vision blurred and then hot tears raced down his cheeks, spreading onto the fingers of the hand he’d pressed against his mouth to silence his sobs. But he could still hear his own fragmented and frayed gasps, and they tore at him, got into his head as easily as the text message from his dead best friend had. He dropped his phone and bolted from his blanket nest, yanking open his nightstand drawer and pawing through it until he found a little orange bottle with a white cap. It took his tremulous hands several attempts until he managed to open it. He dug out a pill, shoving it into his mouth and crunching it into dust before swallowing. He dropped the rest of them into his drawer, forgetting to cap them, and gripped the sides of the end table, leaning over it and hunching his shoulders. The pill was chalky and gross, but he couldn’t spare any time in waiting for it to take effect.

He needed to call Shiro, knew he needed Shiro to be there with him, knew Shiro would be there in an instant. Shiro could help. Shiro would be there, if he could just pick up his phone. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? The screen still glowed, the message from Carver - the new holder of Carver’s number - still bright and available for viewing. He’d have to pick up his phone. He’d have to touch that thing while that message was still up. Risk seeing a reply he’d craved and dreaded. His knees gave out and he fell to the floor, colliding harshly with the end table on his way down. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars, until he saw Carver’s face smiling down at him. His face smiling, his lips falling into a frown, brows furrowing, arms outstretched-

_Keith, Keith, hey buddy, Keith-_

Carver’s voice, his hands, shaking him, touching him. Keith wanted to shout at him to get away, to stay, to never stop touching him, please stay, _stay_ -

“Keith!”

Hands on either side of his face, one warm and made of flesh, the other cold and made of metal. A large, warm body kneeling in his space, wide grey eyes damp with concern. A scar across a strong nose, trauma-stained white hair. Keith’s eyes stopped jittering as Shiro came into focus, and he gasped. When he exhaled, it was more of an anguished, wet sob as he collapsed into Shiro’s arms, his body convulsing entirely without his consent. Shiro immediately wrapped his arms around Keith, folding him into his chest and holding him there as firmly as he dared. For several long, agonizing moments, Keith made no noise against his chest, simply exhaling and soaking it through with his tears.

Then he moved, his arms coming up to grip at Shiro’s shoulders, and a dam broke. A gravelly, heartbroken cry wrenched itself from Keith’s raw throat, and Shiro could virtually feel the rest of Keith’s energy fizzle from him, leaving him loose and pliant in his arms. He gathered Keith to him and very carefully maneuvered to his feet, pulling Keith with him. He set him back on the bed, but Keith continued to cling to him. Shiro crawled very carefully over Keith, lying down next to him and drawing him close again. With a pitiful whimper, Keith went willingly, burying himself into Shiro’s broad, strong chest. Shiro tucked one arm under Keith’s head and wrapped the other around his shoulders, threading his fingers into the hair at the base of his skull.

Wrapped up like that, with the lorazepam beginning to push through his system and Shiro’s arms locked around his body, Keith felt his frazzled brain beginning to sputter out. He hiccupped against Shiro, and his eyelids felt heavy.

“You know you can’t sleep, Keith. Come on,” Shiro murmured, his voice a quiet rumble against the white noise in Keith’s ears. He rocked his face back and forth against Shiro’s chest, fighting the sudden exhaustion.

“M-my phone,” he managed to say, heavily muffled though it was. Shiro knew him, though, bless the man. He shifted to look over Keith’s shoulder, found the phone. He swiped it open and of course not-Carver’s message was still up, and Shiro froze. Keith wondered, in brief hysteria, how they would manage if they both ended up in an immobile panic. Shiro set the phone back down, but not before pressing the ‘home’ button and minimizing the message. He wrapped that arm back around Keith and pulled him closer.

“Why today?” Keith managed to whisper. Shiro breathed in deeply, clenching his metal fingers into a fist and releasing them.

“God, I wish I knew,” Shiro answered.

Great.

Fuck today.

—

Keith skipped his classes that day. He felt very ready to puke, especially after Shiro told him that he should text not-Carver back.

“They seemed concerned,” he reasoned. Keith’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

“Of course they’re concerned! I was talking to a dead man like a fucking crazy person!” he squawked into Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro hummed and rubbed his thumb over the back of Keith’s hand.

“I don’t think they thought you’re crazy. They seemed respectful. At least let them know you’re okay,” he said. “Talking to strangers can be therapeutic.” He’d know, too. Part of his coping had been to join a Discord chat and pour his entire personality out onto random strangers. It’s how he’d met Hunk.

“If I do, will you stop moming me?” Keith asked, squinting. Shiro grinned and kissed Keith’s forehead.

“Sure. But you actually have to text them,” he teased.

He’d made Shiro delete Carver’s name from the contact before he did anything more than glance at his phone.

 **To Mothman 12:18 PM** _(really, Shiro? Low)  
__Uh, hi? Sorry about before. I’m ok._

There. Text sent. He snapped a screenshot and sent it to Shiro, who texted back with a thumbs up emoji. What a parent. Keith tossed his phone onto the bed and rolled off, shuffling to his dresser to pull out a hoodie to wrap himself in. He tugged it on and pulled the hood up, sniffling against a stuffy nose. He wanted to get food, something more substantial than instant noodles. But that meant leaving the Garden Apartments and wandering all the way across campus to the cafeteria. Nope, not a chance in hell he was leaving the apartment today.

His phone buzzed, and he startled, fingers clenching around the sleeves of the hoodie. He stumbled back to his bed and grabbed his phone before his nerves could fail him again.

 **From Mothman 12:21 PM  
** _It’s cool. Also, hi! :D I’m glad you’re okay._

Keith bit back against the tight feeling growing in his chest, tried to breathe just a little. He should be able to fucking _talk_ about Carver by now.

 **To Mothman 12:22 PM  
** _It’s fine. I’m fine._

Blunt. Smooth. Good way to be friendly. But three little dots appeared on his screen almost immediately.

 **From Mothman 12:22 PM  
** _Let me guess: everything’s fine? :P_

 **To Mothman 12:22 PM  
** _Smartass._

 **From Mothman 12:23 PM  
** _It is pretty smart ;D_

 **To Mothman 12:24 PM  
** _…I regret this conversation already._

 **From Mothman 12:25 PM  
** _I am_ wounded _, sir!  
__P.s. I like ya, keep talking. What should I put you in my phone as?_

Keith stared at his screen, taken aback. Who… who the heck was this person? Who just - kept talking to randoms who sent _really_ fucked up messages to corpses? That couldn’t be a healthy habit.  And yet here was this guy, or girl, or _Mothman_ , being a sassy little shit and -

Keith grumbled to himself.

 **To Mothman 12:27 PM**  
_Idk, why does it matter?_

The little grey dots appeared again, almost instantly.

 **From Mothman 12:27 PM**  
_Because we’re gonna be friends, my dude!  
You’re gonna be Zack!_

 **To Mothman 12:28 PM**  
_Ew, why? How do you even know if I’m a dude?_

 **From Mothman  12:28 PM**  
_I just know. I have a sense for these things. I’m a dude too. What am i in your phone as?_

 **To Mothman 12:29 PM**  
_Annoying Little Shit._  
  
**From Mothman 12:30 PM**  
_We’re gonna be best friends._

Keith smiled, and was taken off guard by the ease at which the smile fell into place. He remembered what his therapist said, though, and he embraced that feeling as well as he could manage. His arms were shaky and he hesitated, but he eventually put his arms around it and pulled it close.

—

Shiro brought pizza back to the apartment that evening. The Garden Apartments were suites - four bedrooms shared one bathroom, a living room, kitchen, and dining room. Their other two roommates, Tanner and Malik, were on their JanTerm trip to Haiti, so he and Shiro had the place to themselves. It was nice, because the apartment stayed neat and organised and they could have their friends over when they pleased. Shiro had asked if they could come over tonight.

They knew about Carver, of course. It was difficult to hide something like that, what with Shiro looking the way he did. They probably just wanted to do what they did best - completely crowd around them until the affection is so stifling that he cannot help but inhale it, absorb it, draw it into himself and let it radiate from the inside out.

Plus, Lance would be with them.

Yeah, they could come over.

The dopey look on his face must have told Shiro all he needed to know, because he snorted a laugh back and began texting one of them, probably Hunk. Keith scowled and threw a pillow across the room, settling back onto the couch and definitely thinking about Lance. Dark skin, dark hair, ocean eyes that went on for leagues if you caught him in the right mood. His personality shone bright enough to light up an entire room and then some, twinkling in and out like so many stars. He filled the room with everything he was, wide and _kind_ and filled with bad jokes and flirtatious behaviour that never stopped.

Keith had known the guy for a fucking month and a half and he was already halfway to falling right on his face for him.

 _Sucker_ , Shiro had teased.

Yeah, he was. He’d always been weak for the pretty boys, though. Carver had been pretty. Gorgeous, even. Tall, arms like tree trunks, eyes -

No.

Not going back down that road. Not anymore today.

His phone buzzed again. He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket and pulled it out, smiling at the text.

 **From Mothman 6:42 PM**  
_How’d you make out in classes today?_

 **To Mothman 6:43 PM  
** _I didn’t go to glasses today, dummy. How could I text you so much if i were in class?_

 **From Mothman 6:43 PM  
** _Idk dude, I was in class all day and i didn’t have any problem answering u._

 **To Mothman 6:43 PM  
** _Maybe your teachers have just given up on you as a lost cause then._

 **From Mothman 6:44 PM**  
_WOW. HURTFUL. well i WAS going to send you pictures of the pizza i’m bout to smash, but now i don’t think i will_

Keith grinned at his phone, then snuck into the kitchen and snapped a picture of one of the pizzas before Shiro could see him and kinkshame him for getting attached to a random.

 **To Mothman 6:46 PM**  
_I think I’ll survive.  
_

He sent the picture of the pizza to his - his what? Friend? Text buddy? A seventy year old creep with a food complex? Nope, nah. He put that in the folder with the rest of the ‘Things to Not Think About Anymore Today’ crap.

 **From Mothman 6:47 PM**  
_cute foot nerd_

What?

Keith looked at the picture he’d sent. In the very bottom corner was literally a small sliver of his socked foot. A wave of laughter bubbled up and came out as a half aborted snort and he slammed the pizza box shut and very pointedly ignored Shiro’s quirked eyebrow and _judging smirk_.

 **To Mothman 6:48 PM**  
_You’re unreal. My roommate thinks I’m crazy now, thanks._

 **From Mothman 6:48 PM**  
_crazy for me at least._

He froze, just a little, his chest clenching just a little. And then his throat constricted, and he thought of Lance. Closed his eyes, squeezed them shut and took a deep breath. Took another. Then one more for good measure.

 **To Mothman 6:50 PM**  
_Only on tuesdays._

 _Ohhh I am bad at flirting, someone end my existence. Please lord strike me dead_ , he thought to himself in a panic. And why was he even flirting? He liked Lance, not this random. Or maybe Lance and the random? He flopped onto the couch again, dragging a thick blanket around himself. He always did fall quickly - in lust, in love, in deep embarrassing affection that made him flirt with people he didn’t know.

When Rando (because it sounded like Randy, and he wasn't giving him some stupid name like _Cloud_ ) had asked who he was trying to text, he’d quickly and with many typos responded that it was his ex. So much easier to explain those feelings as ‘I’m not over my ex’ instead of ‘I’m not over my dead best friend whom I may or may not have been in love with’. He’d fallen quickly for Carver, broken the Golden Gay Rule: don’t fall for a straight boy. He was falling quickly for Lance. And now this Rando had been flirting with him all damn day. It had been easy to flirt back when he hadn’t been thinking about Lance. Now Lance was on his way over, probably with a bottle of tequila and the whole set of Cards Against Humanity and Keith _knew_ he was going to drink too much and then have to rub one out before bed.

_I’m a train wreck._

**From Mothman 6:52 PM**  
_i fucking love tuesdays_

“Noooo,” Keith moaned, tossing his phone outside of the blanket nest and burrowing into it, covering his face with his hands. He heard Shiro’s footsteps approach him from behind, heard the scrape of nails against the couch as he picked up his phone. A low whistle.

“You poor thing,” Shiro said, completely without sympathy. Keith whined. “What about Lance?” Keith whined at a higher pitch, wiggled around a bit. Shiro chuckled. “You catch feelings so easily.” Keith squirmed, then popped his head out of the blanket, glaring mutinously at Shiro.

“Says _you_ ,” he hissed. A faint flush appeared on Shiro’s cheeks, but he shrugged it off.

“I wasn’t already into someone before I met Hunk, though,” he defended easily.

“So what, should I stop talking to this guy? Or stop talking to Lance?” Keith huffed. Shiro leaned over the back of the couch and pulled Keith toward him, hugging him from behind.

“Don’t get so defensive. I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he said. The ‘again’ was implied. Keith hated implications; they made him feel small and confused. He dropped the phone in front of Keith, letting it fall into the folds of the blanket. Keith grabbed it, clutched at it closely. Thanked some sort of deity that he still had Shiro in his life. Then shoved at said blessing and told him to go and get the styrofoam plates out.

“No, we’re going to be _fancy_ tonight,” Shiro said. “We’re going with paper.”

“Easy there, hero. Hunk’s pants might fall off the minute he walks in the door if you go waving those around too much,” Keith said, putting his hands up in mock defense. Shiro whipped around, almost instantly beet red, and flung one of those classy paper plates right at Keith like a frisbee. Keith ducked back into his blanket with a grin on his face.

 **To Mothman 7:00 PM**  
_I bet you do.  
If i go awol, it’s because some friends are here. they’re a needy bunch but i love ‘em_

 **From Mothman 7:01 PM**  
_aw, im needy too!  
but it’s all good, i’m headed out too._

 **From Mothman 7:02 PM**  
_Can I text you tomorrow?_

Keith buried the heels of his palms into his eyes, grinning widely, face hot.

 **To Mothman 7:03 PM**  
_I’d be offended if you didn’t._

Yup, he was gonna puke.

The door to the suite banged open then, and two people crammed their way through the door at once. Pidge was smaller, and she has really sharp elbows, so she shoved Lance right back out of the way and bolted into the room. Lance was hot on her heels, yelling indignantly at her. They made a beeline for Keith, whose eyes went wide as he braced for impact. They crowded around him on either side, working their way under the blanket and tickling his sides. He barely managed to shut off his phone screen before flinging it away and squirming with laughter. He shied away from Lance’s fingers, only to mash himself further into Pidge. Keith tried very, very hard to not to _giggle_ , but it burst out anyway.

“Hunk! Help!” he shouted.

Hunk stood in the kitchen, talking with Shiro (and smiling softly and making heart eyes and being gross and _not helpful at all_ ).

“Just accept their love,” he advised. “It’ll be over quicker that way.”

“Yeah Keith, accept our love,” Lance parroted, stuffing his toes under Keith’s thighs (when did he kick his shoes off?) and prodding him in the side. Pidge twisted her knuckles against his ribcage, grinning like a maniac.

“Okayokay!” he breathed with a laugh, eyes clenched shut. “Your love’s great, now stop before I pee on you!”

“Gross.” Pidge peeled away from him with a frown.

“Kinky,” Lance purred. Keith’s eyes shot open and his face flushed down to his chest.

“Oh god,” he spluttered, planting his palm on Lance’s face and shoving him away as he cackled.

Pidge Side-Eyed them hard and rolled to her feet, wandering into the kitchen before backtracking and whispering to them to, “Look, damnit!”

Keith peered over the back of the couch; Hunk’s hand was on Shiro’s waist and Shiro was leaning against the counter, a flush across his cheeks and nose. Keith felt a pressure on his shoulder; Lance had leaned onto him, resting his chin on his head, to look at their two friends in the kitchen. A hand on his shoulder and another _on his thigh_ and he was screaming internally. Both at his own situation and at Shiro’s. They watched as Shiro tilted his body forward just a little, saw Hunk’s finger twitch.

“GET SOME!” Lance cheered, the force of his enthusiasm causing him to rock forward, causing his grip to tighten on Keith’s thigh, causing Keith to want to light himself on fire and burn away forever. Hunk snapped his head up to glare at Lance. Shiro buried his face into his hand. Squinting at Lance, Hunk grabbed Shiro’s prosthetic hand and dragged him, squawking and embarrassed, down the hall to his room and shut the door loudly.

Lance leaned back, _finally_ taking his hands from Keith’s body, which was a really good thing because Keith thought he might actually spontaneously combust if Lance didn’t move. Did Lance even know how much heat he radiated? He was like a furnace. He had a very smug grin on his face, readjusting the blanket back onto his shoulder.

“What the hell did you do that for? We were witnessing something like, a year in the making. I’ve been pining as much as Shiro!” Pidge hissed, slapping Lance’s arm. Lance’s grin fell to something much softer.

“They need their first kiss to be between them, not on display for all of us to see,” he reasoned. Keith blinked at Lance, taken aback by something so… vanilla. Lance was anything but vanilla, all about loud and public displays of love and lust, and definitely a bit of a voyeur. To hear that from him made Keith’s chest clench. Then there was the cold tendril of guilt that hadn’t been there before. He tried not to think about Rando right now.

“Fucking sap,” Pidge said, throwing some pizza onto a plate. “Keith, how many you want?”

“Four,” he answered. He hadn’t eaten all day and he really loved pizza, okay?

“I want three!” Lance called.

“You get none for being such a cockblock,” Pidge snapped, carrying only two plates in. She gave one to Keith and kept the other for herself. Lance whined, throwing his head back dramatically.

“That’s homophobic, Pidge,” he sighed.

“ _How_?” she gaped.

“Because I’m pan and it offends me,” he said.

“I hate you, oh my _god_ ,” Pidge grumbled, making to get up. Keith shoved his plate at Lance, absolutely refusing to make eye contact. Because he was still on fire.

“You can share mine.”

He could feel Pidge’s salacious grin behind him, decided to light her on fire for it later. Lance’s eyes went wide and he blinked down at the pizza in surprise. Then he grinned, bright and wide, and honestly, he could have sneezed right then and Keith would have applauded him. He could see a sigh leave his chest, and there it was, that deep ocean that Keith would willingly throw his compass away to get lost in.

“See Pidge? _Someone_ loves me,” he said pointedly, breaking eye contact after what felt like several long, heart stopping minutes. Keith glanced sharply at Pidge. She was ruthless, and he definitely feared her, but she did have a soft spot for him. He hoped that the look of panic on his face was enough for her to want to protect him. She flashed him one soft look, _bless her tiny and terrifying heart_ , and then rolled her eyes with a snort and went back to her pizza. She stuffed half the slice into her mouth and then stood, motioning to Keith and Lance about drinks.

“Tea for me,” Keith said. He looked at Lance, eyebrows raised, questioning. Lance gave him the thumbs up and made a mumbled noise around pizza. “And for Lance.”

Keith took a bite of his pizza, acutely aware of how close Lance was, how intently he was being watched. Lance swallowed his pizza and then propped his head up on his fist, staring at Keith. Keith looked back at Lance, trying not to feel small and timid and failing under that blue, blue gaze.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

_I was until you gave me that look and broke my heart all over again._

“Yeah, I think I am. Or, I will be,” he said instead, forcing a smile. Lance frowned at him.

“Are you bullshitting me? Because I’m not here for that shit. If you’re not okay, you’re not okay and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Lance said firmly. Keith blinked, taken back by the heat in Lance’s voice. His throat constricted again, and he knew for a fact that he stopped breathing for more than a few seconds. Maybe his heart stopped. Maybe the world stopped, for all he knew. Unbidden, a thought of telling Lance that he’d been texting someone fluttered through his head. It was a Bad Idea if he’d ever had one, and he shoved it down. Not an option. Especially because Lance was giving him such an intensely concerned look.

(He was definitely screaming again.)

He shoved down the thoughts of Rando. He’d deal with that tomorrow. Lance was here, Lance was leaning close, Lance radiated concern and compassion and something else that Keith thought he might be able to name but absolutely refused to acknowledge. Lance was _leaning close_ , so close, scrutinizing and curious and genuinely caring about his mental state. Lance was simply being himself, completely overwhelming Keith with his gentle care.

Pidge bumbled back into the living room, balancing three glasses of iced tea in her hands. She set them down and took her place on the couch, thigh-to-thigh with Keith.

Shiro and Hunk were doing… something. Affirming feelings? Making out? He knew how happy Hunk made Shiro, though, which meant that if Shiro was with Hunk, then Shiro was content. The four people who meant the most to him were right here under one roof, gathered around _for_ him. Specifically to make him feel like he wasn’t alone. He leaned forward and picked up a glass of tea, then handed it to Lance with what he hoped was not a watery, emotional smile.

“I’m okay.”

Lance smiled wide enough to pull the stars from the sky, and oh, he was in love.

—

 **To Mothman 2:41 AM**  
_You awake?_

 **From Mothman 2:42 AM**  
_for you, always. your friends leave?_

 **To Mothman 2:42 AM**  
_Yeah, just a little while ago._

 **From Mothman 2:43 AM**  
_good. so what are you wearing? ;)_

 **To Mothman 2:43 AM**  
_Ducky footie pajamas.  
with a butt flap._

 **From Mothman 2:44 AM**  
_that’s hot._

—

 **From Mothman 3:02 AM**  
_so did you friends come over to help you forget about the turd that broke up with you?_

 **To Mothman 3:05 AM**  
_more or less, yeah._

 **From Mothman 3:05 AM**  
_when did he break up with you?_

 **To Mothman 3:06 AM**  
_a year ago today._

 **From Mothman 3:06 AM**  
_sounds like a shitty chucklefuck to me_

 **To Mothman 3:07 AM**  
_oh my god_

 **From Mothman 3:07 AM**  
_what??_

 **To Mothman 3:08 AM**  
_that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard._

 **From Mothman 3:08 AM**  
_but it made you smile, didn’t it_

 **To Mothman 3:10 AM**  
_yeah, it did._

_—_

**From Mothman 3:48 AM**  
_i have class tomorrow morning but i really, really don’t want to go to sleep._

 **To Mothman 3:50 AM**  
_i don’t want to sleep either_

 **From Mothman 3:51 AM**  
_so i’m not just imagining all this?_

 **To Mothman 3:53 AM**  
_you’re really not._

—

Keith eventually did pass out, flushed into a fever and buried into his pillow. He’d grinned so much that night, between the Cards Against Humanity game that Lance had predictably brought and Rando’s very blatant flirting. His cheeks hurt, hadn’t hurt like this in such a long time. He had a nine am class, though, and he rolled out of bed feeling like a zombie. He pulled a hoodie on and shuffled out of his room, groping around the kitchen for the coffee that had been set to brew. He scrolled through the text messages from the night before, a fond smile on his face. Rando had told him what college he went to - the same one as Keith. Unfortunately, it was a huge campus, and there was no way he knew everyone. They had also retained the anonymity of not revealing their true names. Neither had asked, neither had offered. He’d let a stranger in on some of the most intimate details of his life.

Shiro didn’t even know some of the things he’d told Rando.

He brushed his teeth when he finished his coffee, pulled on the clothes he was _supposed_ to wear to class yesterday, grabbed his bag, and fumbled his way out the front door. He checked his phone. Shit. He didn’t have Lance’s new number. His old phone had been flushed literally down a toilet at a frat party and he’d gotten a new one about a week ago. But Lance would be there. They walked to class together every morning. Lance was majoring in marine biology and his first class was in the same building as Keith’s calc class.

Keith was standing under the awning of his building, reading the last message Rando had sent him at six-something in the morning, when Lance jogged up to him, looking about as tired as he felt.

“You look like shit,” Keith greeted fondly.

“I’m an adult now, Keith, I don’t know what sleep is anymore,” he said, passing off a thermos of steaming tea to Keith. Keith accepted it with a murmur of thanks, sipping at it gingerly.

“Me neither.”

“Well, I mean, you had a valid excuse to skip out on sleep. I just have no impulse control,” Lance said. He glanced at Keith, bumping into him with his elbow. “You still okay?” Keith offered him a small, shy smile, nudging him back and sticking close.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks, Lance,” he said, ducking his head and glancing at Lance through his lashes. Lance flushed happily, gulping at his own tea. They walked across the campus in silence, though none of it was awkward. Their elbows touched, forearms and biceps brushing and rubbing and Keith felt warm all over, despite the chill of the February morning air. His fingers twitched. He wanted desperately to reach out and grab at Lance’s hand, thread their fingers together -

 _Drag him back to his apartment, skip class, spend the entire day getting to know every detail of Lance’s mouth_.

Keith was very glad the wind had already made his face red.

Every morning it was the same; the walk together ended too quickly. Keith’s class was on the second floor, and Lance’s on the third. Lance usually flashed him a dazzling smile and a wink before jogging up the stairs. Today, there was a soft smile, soft eyes straight from the depths of the ocean, a soft hand almost reaching out to his.

Not quite.

Damn.

Keith found a seat in the back of his classroom, dropping his bag down to the floor next to the desk and withdrawing a pen and notebook from it. He fished out his phone and lit the screen. He hid a smile into the neck of his hoodie - there was a text waiting for him from Rando.

 **From Mothman 8:57 AM**  
_signing up for a nine am class was the biggest mistake of my life_

 **To Mothman 8:57 AM**  
_Same. I await death._

 **From Mothman 9:00 AM  
** _hopefully not before you let me take you out_

 **To Mothman 9:02 AM**  
_YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT  
_ _YOU LIKE SOMEONE IRL. I LIKE SOMEONE._

 **From Mothman 9:03 AM**  
_did you forget our entire conversation from last night? smh_

They had both admitted to feelings for people they knew, but never had acted upon them. Keith thought he was too damaged, and Rando didn’t think he had much to offer. Keith had argued vehemently against this, telling Rando that anyone should consider themselves blessed to be asked out by someone who literally took the time to befriend a stranger with a shitty ex (dead friend, whatever). At some point the conversation derailed into the discussing the pros and cons of hoodies and sweatshirts over onesies (Keith won with easy access butt-flaps), but eventually stilted confessions of “I DON’T KNOW YOU BUT I REALLY LIKE YOU DESPITE ALSO LIKING SOMEONE ELSE” were professed on both sides.

 **To Mothman 9:04 AM**  
_well NO but. you just  
kjhgdsa_

 **From Mothman 9:04 AM**  
_you’re fucking cute. look, i’m probably never going to ask out the guy i like, he’ll say no on the principle that im a fuckin nerd_

 **To Mothman 9:05 AM**  
_you should. and he should say yes if he wants to be treated well. and if he says no then you can take me out._

 **From Mothman 9:07 AM**  
_SHIT ARE YOU SERIOUS_

 **To Mothman 9:08 AM**  
_yeah, i am._  
if your dude has some horrible disease take hold in his brain that makes him say no  
then you can take me out for valentine’s day.

 _Holy shit when did I get this forward_ , Keith thought, only mildly hysteric. He was comforted by the fact that Shiro had met Hunk this way, a stranger connected only through technology, and that he had walked out of his bedroom last night with mussed hair and glazed eyes. That was promising.

 **To Mothman 9:09 AM**  
_and if my dude asks me out, then.. i still want to meet up with you._

 **From Mothman 9:10 AM**  
_we’ll meet up early for coffee and it’ll be like, a secret affair._

 **To Mothman 9:10 AM**  
_you walnut, we have to be in relationships in order to start an affair._

 **From Mothman 9:10 AM**  
_what if i’m a teacher here. that’d be an affair._

 **To Mothman 9:11 AM**  
_if i walk into a fucking bakery on valentine’s day and i see one sweater vest, i will never speak to you again._

 **From Mothman 9:11 AM**  
_what if the sweater vest is under my coat_

 **To Mothman 9:12 AM  
** _i’m gonna slap you._

 **From Mothman 9:13 AM  
** _kinky._

 **To Mothman 9:13 AM  
** _don’t you have classes now?_

 **From Mothman 9:14 AM  
** _i mean yeah but idc. tell me about you. what’s your fav colour? have you ever not chewed a tic-tac?_

 **To Mothman 9:15 AM  
** _do you want to ruin every topic of conversation for friday?_

 **From Mothman 9:15 AM  
** _oh please, you know we’re just going to sit in super awkward silence and choke on hot beverages._

 **To Mothman 9:17 AM  
** _…  
i like blue._

_—_

Keith spent the entirety of his calc class texting Rando and grinning into the collar of his hoodie. He took no notes, paid no heed to the teacher, simply buried himself in getting to know Rando while being as vague as possible. He wanted _some_  surprise left. His grin rarely left his face; his cheeks hurt and his classmates were staring at him but he couldn’t give two tin shits. This person roamed right into his life quite by accident just over twenty-four hours ago and his heart rate was already up just by talking to him. This guy didn’t know his face or his habits or quirks and was already that interested, how could he not be swept away?

What if it was too much sweeping?

Shiro might disapprove. 

Shiro didn’t need to know. Yeah, sound plan.

Ten-forty and his class was over. Lance’s class typically let out before his, so he wasn’t in any hurry to meet up with him. They probably wouldn’t see each other for the rest of the day, honestly, unless they all met up for dinner, but that was usually just on Friday nights and weekends. It was the twelfth, a Wednesday. His chest tightened at the thought of not seeing Lance again until Friday night. Which was also Valentine’s Day. Which was also when he was going to meet Rando.

Which was also the date that was going to follow his birth date on his fucking tombstone.

He bumbled out of his classroom and wandered to the closest stairwell in a daze, grateful for the half hour break between classes. It was only a five minute walk to his next class, and he was fully prepared to spend the other twenty five minutes thumping his head against a brick wall. Also a sound plan. He was just full of them today. 

“Keith!” He startled at the sound of his voice, his shoulders hunching in a wince before he spun around. The stairwell was empty, but Lance was descending the last few stairs to stand on the platform with him. 

“I thought your class let out half an hour ago?” he asked, shoving his phone back in his pocket. 

“Oh, yeah, it did. I just.. do you wanna hang out Friday?” Lance asked, looking slightly breathless and kind of red in the face. Keith blinked, then smiled softly ( _I’m getting so good at playing cool. Fuck yes_ ).

“Sure. Pidge mentioned bowling, but it might be crowded because of Valentine’s day,” he said. 

“Yeah, probably, but that’s not, uh, exactly what I meant,” Lance muttered, pursing his lips and looking down at his shoes.

“Well, we don’t have to go bowling. Hunk mentioned that new laser tag place and I owe Shiro an ass kicking -”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lance mumbled.

Keith’s brain effectively turned off the lights and closed up shop as Lance tugged him forward by the strings of his hoodie and kissed him. Right on his lips that were dangling open in shock. He saw Lance’s eyes clenched shut, but didn’t process the worried wrinkle between his brows. He felt the firm grip of Lance’s hand on the drawstrings of his hoodie, but didn’t catch the shaky waver of that hold. He could feel the warm exhale of breath against his upper lip as Lance breathed, but didn’t register how quickly it was coming. Everything was functioning and nothing was being absorbed because _Lance was kissing him_. 

And then he wasn’t. He pulled back, beet red, eyes wide, darting from side to side in a panic. 

“Like that. Do you want to go out on Friday night like that?” he asked quietly.

Silence.

_Answer, idiot!_

Oh, right. _Words_  were a thing. He could use them to communicate his assent. Just as easy as opening his mouth and forcing air through his windpipes and adding noise and moving his lips and making it _make sense_.

He gaped like a fish, instead. 

_Smooth._

He gave up on talking when he saw Lance floundering before him, looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing second, and he settled on nodding very fervently. Lance looked up at him eyes bright and hopeful, a breath leaving his chest in a great puff.

“Really? Shit, I, yeah, okay. Holy shit, okay,” Lance laughed, dropping the drawstrings. He ran a hand through his hair, grinning broad and easy, relaxed and seemingly his normal self again.

“There’s a little diner down the street, and there’s a bar in the basement. We could grab dinner and then go for drinks?”

There was a whirring noise in his brain. The startup sound for your phone of choice played, and Keith nodded again.

“Y-yeah, yeah, that’s good. Bars are great,” he blurted stupidly. 

“So can I.. I don’t know, pick you up around six?” Lance asked. Keith focused; he’d been looking at Lance, but not seeing him at all. He’s pretty sure those eyes violated some maritime law that said people can’t put the fucking beauty of the ocean into their bodies because it’s unfair to the rest of the population. Smooth, dark skin, no longer lined with worry, soft lips stretched across his teeth in an easy smile. 

“Yes please,” Keith squeaked, still staring and beginning to understand very quickly why his favourite colour was blue. 

Lance grinned harder, eyes sparkling like a lagoon.

Things were very clear.

—

Clear in everything, except Rando. Keith was most assuredly in love with Lance. But he also still really liked Rando? He bumbled through the rest of his classes that day in a fog, his hood drawn up. He checked his phone every three minutes, just in case it went off and he didn’t catch it. It hadn’t. But what if texting first sounded too desperate? Why was he even worrying about being desperate when Lance was literally taking him out on a _date_  on Friday? He was sitting outside on the cold ground, back up against a tree. He flopped over onto his side. A few passersby glanced over at him, but none said anything. College was hard for everyone, they were in no position to judge.

He was picking at grass when his phone vibrated. He scrambled to get it out of the pocket of the hip that was crushed against the ground, flicking dirt from under his nails.

 **From Mothman 4:09 PM**  
_so.. you still up for friday?_

 **To Mothman 4:09 PM**  
_yeah, definitely. did you… ask your guy out?_

 **From Mothman 4:10 AM**  
_so you wanna meet at the starbucks up in town at like 11? the breakfast crowd should be gone by then._

 **To Mothman 4:11 PM**  
_we can, yeah. but why are you avoiding my question._

 **From Mothman 4:12 PM**  
_because  
fuck_

 **From Mothman 4:15 PM**  
_because i really like this guy and i also really like you and if i meet you then i feel like i’m going to lose every chance i might have with him. but i don’t want to stop talking to you because i don’t care what you look like at all, i just really like you too. i don’t want to fuck everything up and i feel like i might._

 **To Mothman 4:18 PM**  
_so. do you want to not meet?_

Keith could feel his chest constricting, his throat starting to close. This all went downhill so quickly, this was like a bad movie. He hated bad movies. He needed -

He rolled to his feet and began to jog across campus, heading back to his apartment. He burst through the door and ran back to his room, startling Hunk and Shiro enough to make them jump apart from where they were cuddling on the couch. He slammed the door shut and scuttled under the blankets, doing his level best to avoid the lorazepam. With great effort, he checked his phone, which had buzzed in his pocket on the way back.

 **From Mothman 4:23 PM**  
_i do. i really do.  
but i think it should just be as friends._

Keith shut his phone off.

—

The next day of classes went by in a blur. Lance was there to greet him in the morning, as usual. He asked Keith if anything was bugging him, but Keith shrugged and told him that he just hadn’t slept well the night before. Before they separated for their classes, Lance pulled on Keith’s sleeve, just by his wrist.

 _Just take my hand, damnit, I_ need _to hold your hand right now_ , Keith thought, a combination of bitter and heartbroken. 

“You still up for tomorrow night?” Lance asked. Keith glanced up at him. Fuck, if those blue eyes weren’t a trap. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Lance’s cheek. 

“Yeah,” he said. Lance’s face was completely red, but the grin he wore could have made Beyoncé hand over every Grammy she’d ever won. 

His day got marginally better after that, even if he didn’t hear from Rando at all. 

He’d talked to Shiro about it, after he’d managed to stop apologizing for interrupting his makeout session with Hunk. Shiro had taken it all in with calm, thoughtful eyes and a warm cuddle, and then Keith had asked for Shiro’s opinion. 

“I think Mothman is smart. And loyal. Meet him. I think he was what you needed, when you needed it, but that doesn’t mean you should throw away a date with Lance, or anything else that comes from said date,” Shiro had said. Keith agreed, much as it rankled him. 

“It’s going to be awkward as fuck,” Keith grumbled. Shiro chuckled, hugging Keith tighter.

“Well, yeah. But I think you also want to thank him,” he decided.

Shiro was always right, of course.

—

Keith couldn’t figure out what to wear. He stood in front of his closet, shirtless and panicking. It was ten-thirty on Valentine’s Day and he had no idea what he was going to wear. Shiro popped his head in his room and Keith whirled to look at him.

“Is this what your sisters feel? Because this is terrible,” he snapped. Shiro sucked his lips into his mouth to avoid laughing, but went inside anyway and began rifling through Keith’s closet.

“For someone whose favourite colour is a very specific shade of blue -”

“I’m going to tackle you.”

“- you sure do have a lot of red in here,” Shiro finished, pushing no fewer than seven red shirts to the side. “Just wear this,” he said, pulling out a black scoop neck shirt. “And this.” A black faux leather jacket with a cotton hoodie-style hood was thrown at him after that. “Wear some jeans.” A pair of dark wash pants were tossed out next. Shiro turned and put his hands on Keith’s cheeks.

“And stop panicking. You’ll meet this Random, and then tonight you have a date with Lance, whom you are wildly in love with,” he said. 

“You’re the worst,” Keith mumbled as best he could with his lips stuck out like a fish. Shiro gave them a quick peck before walking back out into the hallway. “Have fun with Hunk, don’t come back pregnant!” he called.

He changed into his Shiro-approved clothes and went to make his hair see reason. He ended up pulling it back into a ponytail because there was really just no hope for it at all. He brushed his teeth (thoroughly) and wasted no time in grabbing his keys and definitely not _power walking_  out the door. The Starbucks was only about ten minutes from his place, but he wanted to be early. He’d probably get there at about five-of, and that would have to be good enough. His heart thundered in his chest the entire way there, probably louder than his footsteps. 

He pushed open the door to Starbucks just as his phone vibrated. 

 **From Mothman 10:54 AM**  
_i’m almost there. what are you wearing? i don’t want to stand around like a lameass for ten minutes, trying to figure out which person you are._

 **To Mothman 10:54 AM**  
_literally the only dude in here, but my hair is pulled up and i’ve got a black jacket on._

 **From Mothman 10:55 AM**  
_cool cool, be there in five._

Yep, he was going to die. Collapse at twenty-one from heart failure. Cause of death? Nah it just got up and _left_  because its owner couldn’t stop freaking out for five fucking minutes of his life. 

He very quietly dictated his order to the barista and accepted it when they handed it over a moment later. The chai was too hot to drink, so he made his way to a table, his back facing the main entrance. He stared out the back customer entrance, where there was a stone terrace for warmer weather. He felt so short of breath, wished he’d brought his lorazepam with him. A white Acura drove by, pulling into the drive-thru. He wondered who that woman was, with her blond hair and fair skin, sunglasses too big for her head. He wondered if she could manage to meet a blind date in a very public place without sweating herself into cardiac arrest. 

His fingernails scratched at the paper cup, picked at the cardboard hand-guard that was on it. He tore it off and began to shred it very carefully, eyes out of focus, watching the back door open and shut, allowing someone inside. They gave him a strange look, no doubt because they could see his heart literally about to pop through the skin on his chest. Did he put deodorant on? He was definitely sweating and he couldn’t remember if he had or not, because it was the middle of February and who sweats after walking a block and a half to Starbucks in February? Anxious, lovestruck college boys, apparently. 

The back door chimed open again and Keith forced himself to focus. One of these people walking through could be Rando and he’d never know. Didn’t even know what colour hair he had, or how tall he was. A short black girl came through, offering a polite smile as she walked past with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Not Rando. A blue pickup trundled past the window. An elderly woman sat near him with a cup of something steaming and strong smelling. A barista called for Nadia to pick up her drink. Lance walked through the back door. The steamer screeched. 

_Lance._

Lance, who had frozen in place and looked like he was about to either panic himself into projectile vomiting or turn and run. 

Lance, who was clutching his phone in his hand like a lifeline. 

Keith still hadn’t quite caught up to ‘ _oh hey, Lance is here to catch him cheating!’_ when his phone vibrated.

 **From Mothman 11:03 AM**  
_I see the back of your head! i’m coming around the back entrance._

Keith felt the breath leave his lungs like a punch to the gut. His phone clattered to the wooden table and he felt a distinct seize in his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath, his eyes lost focus. His head felt swimmy, foggy, suddenly too heavy for his shoulders.

“Keith!”

A rubber band snapped at Lance’s voice, and Keith’s eyes widened as he looked from Lance to his phone, and back up to Lance. He could feel the ground crumbling behind him. Something great and powerful cracking the earth and his insecurities and his guilt like a hammer descending on glass. Great chunks of it all fell away, splashing into an ocean below, and he had to _move_  or it would all consume him and then what good would he be? He shoved back from the table with enough force to slosh some of his untouched tea out through the hole in the lid. He grabbed his phone before he stumbled away from the table, approaching Lance, who was still ramrod straight and still as a lion stalking her prey. 

He swiped his phone open and pulled up his messages, taking one look at them before turning his palm over and showing Lance the glowing screen. 

Lance threw his own phone onto the table that stood beside them, not caring that it slid off and onto the chair, probably cracking the screen. He stepped up to Keith, right into his space, close enough, close enough -

_Can you hear the rest of what I thought I knew falling into your ocean?_

Hands on the side of his face, forcing him to look upward right into that ocean, and he’d never seen it so dark and sure before it came close and swallowed him whole. Lance’s lips fell on his and Keith gasped into it, crowding against Lance’s chest, grasping at his wrists. He felt Lance’s thumbs brush at hot tears that he didn’t know had even fallen because they were _nothing_  compared to the heat he felt all around him. His panic, his regret, his indecision and his self judgment were burned away by the intensity of everything all circling right back to Lance. He pulled back, snuffling a bit and laughing, and Lance beamed at him, touching their foreheads together. 

“Mothman?” he murmured, his voice rough and low. Keith laughed, his eyes crinkling. He didn’t answer with words, just leaned in and kissed Lance again. He could taste salt, he knew it was from his own tears, but maybe Lance wouldn’t mind so much if he pretended that it was the ocean rising to meet him. What was the difference, really?

“I love you,” he whispered.

He always rushed into everything.

“I love you, too.” 

He’d rush it all over again, if every decision he’d ever made in life was preparing him for this moment. He’d bury his mother again, he’d bury his best friend and first love, all over again, a dozen times over, as long as it all led right here to this moment where two of his greatest potential fuck-ups collided into one glittering, brilliant burst of a thousand shades of blue. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the ggb for listening to me baw about writing this for a week now. yall are lit <3  
> definitely stole some college ideas from the one my sister went to. sorry turd. 
> 
> appreciate this bc i wrote myself into panic attacks every time keith had one. ayyy experience.
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> melon and 24, thanks for beta reading this garbage fam!
> 
> friendly reminder from literally fanfic author ever in existence: leave us kudos if you like it. comments are even better. mindless consumption of fanfics kills us!


End file.
